


The Next Day

by Ifwecansparkle



Series: Something More than Human [2]
Category: David Bowie - Fandom, Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, Crossover, David Bowie - Freeform, Gen, RPF, SPG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:44:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ifwecansparkle/pseuds/Ifwecansparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Spine meets and old acquaintance, and learns that time may change people, and that sometimes heroes really do only last one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Day

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts to "Something More than Human," takes place soon after the release of The Next Day.

He knows, the moment their vision locks, eye-to-photoreceptor, that he he has seen this person before: the mismatched pupils are the same. Everything else about this figure is different. The Spine realizes suddenly that it has been several lifetimes for both of them. There is a moment of study, closely followed by the thrill of recognition from the man standing across from him, not three feet away. They nod at each other.

"You look exactly the same." 

"You don't," he tries and fails to keep his tone flat and neutral. His voice is less disappointed than it is simply heartbroken: he swallows hard, an unnecessary action which only serves to make him blend in better, and which has become a force of habit after all these years.

"I read about you, you know. Great stuff, really great. Cut out all the newspaper clippings. Went to war, did you?"

"We--ah--once or twice."

"And you sing a bit, too. Really brilliant," the smile is wide and real and meets with the eyes. Maybe he doesn't remember this man at all. 

"I've got all your albums," The Spine says, eager to change the subject. Maybe he's rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in his head. Maybe he hasn't.

"All of them? That's a pity," the laugh that follows is warm and rich and self-deprecating in a practiced way. 

"All of them," he reiterates with a degree of fierceness, a challenge in his voice because this isn't how the conversation is supposed to go. He wants to feel the strong connection that his robotic logic says doesn't exist in this world. He wants to say all the things grinding about like cogs in his head. Instead he says, with intensity, "We've all missed you."

He doesn't know who "all" is, but it feels right.

"It's great to be back, ya know? Different, though. It's different. My wife, my kid, it's all different this time around."

The pain that shots through his chassis has to be human. It can't be robotic. It hurts too much. "Right," he manages.

The man checks the time on a high-tech cell phone and hisses something unintelligible. He looks up and smiles apologetically. "I've got to run," he says. "Bye-bye. Maybe I'll see you later, ah--The Spine, right?"

"R-Right."  
"Brilliant," He starts to brush past him, and The Spine realizes that this is his last chance. 

"David!" He cringes, because it sounds too familiar as soon as it leaves his mouth.

"Yeah?" The man turns and looks back, surprised.

"I was wondering--that is--you said, once, about being human--"

"About wanting to be more?"

"Right. I was wondering--do you still--want that?"

He pauses and considers. The Spine can see a beautiful wife and child behind his eyes when he speaks again, "You know, I think I'll keep what I have this time," he smiles again and turns away.

The Spine watches the familiar stranger go. He can't hate him for that answer, but it doesn't stop him from feeling more alone than he has since 1974.


End file.
